Calloused Heart

So unaffectionate, so insecure. You claim to know a thing or two about heartache and what it’s like to have your insides torn out.
I believe you.
I see it every time your pallbearers parlor is obscured by the darkness, dancing across your face and veils your eyes in pain.
I know what it’s like when memories make you wince.
Love letters read like obituaries and photo albums are the books of dead.
I need no reminders, no more reminders.
I’ll forget the past and lay it to rest.
If I had it my way I would cut the calluses off your heart, if I could reach past the sternum.
I would cauterize every wound you have with each and every kiss.
You hold my heart in your hand, the reason it still beats.
Am I being too cryptic? Am I being too obscure?
Love kills,
romance is dead and I don’t even trust myself.
I love you.
You can pull my wings apart and pin me down under glass until the end of days.
As long as that helps you discover we share the same pain.
I just pray you write your thesis before your subject is dead.